Too Close to Holmes - 2/?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2 - Number 23
It was an ordinary garage on an ordinary housing estate, only standing out because of the lines of police tape blocking it from public access, and the number of pale, serious-faced police officers standing around outside.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Lestrade asked as John followed Sherlock through the police barriers.
"I was called." Sherlock replied, glaring angrily at the DI. "Even Sergeant Donovan had the sense to realise you needed me. The question is what the hell are you doing trying to keep me away from this case? Is the victim still here?"
Lestrade stared at Sherlock, chewing his lip nervously. "Look, Sherlock." He said. "I really don't think you should be on this case." Sherlock just looked at him, one eyebrow cocked expectantly. Lestrade sighed. "He's in there with Donovan."
Sherlock nodded, waltzing past Lestrade into the crime scene.
Sergeant Donovan was standing in the corner of the room, talking to Anderson, while a small, dark-haired boy sat on a chair behind her, staring blankly into space.
"Ah, the freak's here!" She said, a look of almost relief crossing her face.
Sherlock ignored her, striding over to crouch in front of the victim, a sharp snap of his fingers jolting the boy out of his daze. John nervously chewed his fingernail, watching as his flatmate stared thoughtfully into the boy's eyes, waiting for the inevitably inappropriate and potentially traumatising comment. To his surprise though, it didn't come.
"Have they given you painkillers?" Sherlock asked, his brow furrowed, before nodding in satisfaction when the boy indicated that they had. "What's your name? How old are you?"
"Stephen." The boy replied after a moment, his dead eyes seeming to stare straight through Sherlock. "Stephen Matthews. I'm ten. It's... it's my birthday tomorrow."
"I'm Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock told him, lowering himself down to sit cross-legged on the floor. "I'm not going to bother asking if you're ok. That's pointless. You know what's happened to you. Of course you're not ok. What happened?"
"Same as usual." Stephen told him. "He grabbed me on the way home from school. Put a bag over my face. Then he dragged me in here and... and he... he..."
"I know." Sherlock said, sighing deeply. "No need to tell me any more. Is there anything you can tell me? Anything you noticed? Any smells? Anything like that?"
"Toothpaste." Stephen said simply, seeming to really see Sherlock for the first time. "He smelled like toothpaste, or chewing gum or something. A bit minty, you know?"
"Yes." Sherlock replied, his lips pursed. "I know what you mean. What about tastes. Could you taste anything?"
Stephen hesitated, his pale cheeks flushing with sudden colour. "It tasted like rubber."
Sherlock's eyes fell shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. "What did he cover his face with?"
"One of them masks." Stephen told him. "You know the Iron Man masks they brought out with the second film? One of them."
"Ok." Sherlock said, standing up and leaning over, placing a hand on Stephen's shoulder. "Thanks. You've been great."
Sherlock turned around, trying to walk away from the boy, but a question stopped him.
"What's going to happen to me, Mr Sherlock?"
Sherlock stared down at the boy, apparently lost in thought. Finally, he crouched down again in front of him.
"You're going to struggle." He said bluntly. "You're going to have an awful time trying to get over this. You'll be scared, bitter, angry - God, you'll be so angry - you'll blame yourself and everybody else. It'll take years - maybe forever, I don't know, you're a normal human being - but eventually you'll accept it. You'll realise it wasn't anything you or your family did that caused this. It was a sick fucker of a man who probably had issues with his father who decided to make himself feel like more of a real man by exerting his power over people who aren't old or strong enough to stop him. You'll never get over it, but you'll accept it and live with it. And there'll be times, oh there will be so many times, when you see and hear about things like this, when you'll feel yourself getting angry, and you'll want to do whatever it is you did to help you cope before you came to term with it. You'll want to smoke sixty cigarettes, pepper your skin with burns and cuts, stick your fingers down your throat, test how much cocaine you can inject before your brother has to take you to get your stomach pumped. You'll want to do all of this, but you won't, because the fucker is NOT GOING TO WIN THIS TIME!"
Sherlock yelled angrily, jumping to his feet and grabbing a stunned Lestrade by the arm and dragging him back over to Donovan, Anderson and John.
"It's him." He said simply, waving his hand at John to tell him to start taking notes.
"Are you sure?" Lestrade said, watching Sherlock nervously. "Maybe you should leave this one to us."
"Of course I'm sure." Sherlock snapped, pacing in circles around the group. "And from now on I will just ignore you any time you decide to try to pull me off this case."
Lestrade huffed angrily, looking troubled, but Sherlock ignored him.
"Right," Sherlock shouted, continuing to pace, his coat flapping dramatically behind him. "Anderson, no point looking for any DNA whatsoever. This guy's smart. His entire body is shaved, head to toe, so no hair is left anywhere on the scene. He covers his face. This time he used an Iron Man mask. Very clever. Tens of thousands of them have been sold across the UK a part of the film's marketing campaign. Christmas was only three weeks ago, so sales of Iron Man masks will have been sky high. No-one will remember a single sale. Funny how times change. Back in '89 it was Michael Keaton's Bat Man, now it's Robert Downey Jr's Iron Man. Paedophiles do love a masked superhero. Anyway, he used a condom, even when he forced the boy to perform oral sex, so there won't be any semen anywhere in the area to identify him by. No fingerprints either - this guy always wears gloves. The only skin he leaves uncovered is the penis he's using to rape young children."
"But how could the kid not know who abused him?" Donovan asked, looking confused. "You said he didn't know."
"Stephen said it himself!" Sherlock shouted. He always grabbed the children from behind, and immediately placed a black bag over their faces. They couldn't see him. All there is to identify him by is the smell of peppermint and the fact that he's at least fifty years old."
Sherlock continued his frantic pacing, scratching absently at his collar bones and ignoring Lestrade as he repeatedly called his name.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade's voice finally reached a frantic level, and the detective span around to face the older man.
"WHAT?"
"I'm not going to take you off the case." Lestrade said calmly, speaking slowly and deliberately. "I'll give you all the information you need."
"Then what?" Sherlock demanded.
"You need to calm down." The DI said. "Look at your fingernails."
Sherlock looked down, and all of his tensely held breath left him in one quick 'whoosh'. His fingernails were covered in blood, where he had frantically scratched repeatedly through the skin between his own sharp, skinny collar bones.
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